It is the light that annihilates orchids.
In the madness of the light, the violet membranes of butterflies are liquefied.
There is no difference between the light and ourselves.
Sometimes we are also afraid of becoming violent, afraid of throwing ourselves
from a bridge into the ocean to become as white as a crane,
afraid of becoming something that we already are – dark fugitives.
We take refuge in the massive shoulders of the buffalo.
If they search for us tomorrow, they’ll find us in the wounds of the sun,
forging dead lilacs.